The Hostess with the Mostest

Please be aware that the following post addresses themes of trauma, harassment, and social anxiety. 

How do you react when someone makes you feel uncomfortable? Do you let them know? Are you verbal in your approach and set a clear boundary? Or are you more subtle — change the subject, pretend it didn’t happen? Maybe you let your body do the talking; frown at an unwelcome topic, cross your arms, or walk away.

Alternatively, you might be like me – someone who feels obligated to make those around me feel comfortable. To put it into perspective, I am hyper aware of the verbal and nonverbal ways people communicate. I pay attention to what people are saying – the words themselves – but their tone and inflection as well. Body language is decipherable code:

Eye contact is good. That means I have their attention. Hm, that got a laugh. Maybe we have the same sense of humor. They’re looking at the time… should I say goodbye?

This inner monologue runs in the back of my head, no matter who I’m with. Most people aren’t even aware I’m making these constant calculations. Half of the time, I don’t realize it myself. I’ve had this type of social anxiety for so long that it’s second nature to me. 

If you can’t relate, picture this:

Say you’re hosting a dinner party. You’re having a conversation with your friend, Carrie, when you notice that the chip bowl is empty. Then you notice that no one is dancing to the music and you still haven’t said hi to Luke who walked in 20 minutes ago. You remain engaged with Carrie, but you continue to scan the room. You start making a mental checklist of what you need to do to ensure all the guests are entertained. You keep your composure as Carrie describes how much more beautiful the Swiss Alps  are in person, and look for an opportunity to exit. (You don’t want to leave at the height of conversation because that would appear rude. It would be obvious that you were preoccupied and not listening intently.) You seize the lull, politely excuse yourself, and resume your host duties —all while remaining completely undetected. (She never saw you sweat over those chip crumbs.)

Seems like reasonable behavior if you’re throwing a party.
Now, imagine doing this in every social setting.

A trait that comes in handy for hosting, unfortunately has the opposite effect with awkward encounters. Recently, a stranger asked me to do something that was unnecessary and inappropriate. I refused. They persisted, which left me feeling more uncomfortable than I already was. Suddenly, they got out of their seat and approached me. This closed the only space available for me to walk away. Immediately, my defenses went up. I felt trapped. 

Let’s pause for a second. In the past, I would have submitted. I would have done whatever uncomfortable thing they wanted because it would have been “easier.” “Easier” because I know the consequences of sacrificing my own comfort. Sure, I would feel like a pawn, but the imaginary relief that comes with “getting it over with” was familiar and predictable. I was afraid of the unknown; what might come if I protested. I didn’t believe I had that right. I believed that other people’s comfort was more worthy than my own.

Resume awkward encounter. Spoiler alert, I didn’t submit. For the first time in my life, I was forthright in setting a boundary with a complete stranger. I was direct, explicit, and commanding. The spirit of my inner teacher possessed my body. They walked away and sat down, just as I asserted. (Thanks, teaching.)

At that moment, I felt many things: discomfort, frustration, anger, disgust. I also felt proud and justified. However, seconds later, I was consumed by guilt. 

What I did went against every fiber of my being. I felt it instantly. I’m a people pleaser, and at that moment, I had done anything but please. Instead of radiating warmth and hospitality, I created a tangible feeling of discomfort. I watched the way their head fell the rest of the evening. I imagined their humiliation and shame. While knowing nothing meaningful about this individual, I projected a sad and pathetic story onto them, as if to invalidate the action I took. My head and heart were in conflict. My brain sought to shame me while my body urged for safety.

Addressing their inappropriate behavior felt wrong because it’s akin to saying ‘no.’ I’ve always struggled with turning people down because I feel responsible for their emotions.

Sometimes, rejection feels cruel – as if my ‘yes’ is the key to their eternal happiness and my ‘no’ is condemnation.

It’s taken me a long time to learn that saying ‘yes’ when I want to say ‘no’ does no one any favors. In fact, saying ‘yes’ when you know you can’t deliver on your promises can be far more harmful than saying ‘no.’

When I say ‘yes’ instead of ‘no,’ I’m not making anyone more comfortable. I’m really just helping everyone avoid temporary discomfort.

While you can easily adapt “people pleaser” as your personality or label it a character flaw; the truth is, it’s not a fixed trait. Simply put, it’s a behavior.

“People pleasing” is a trauma response, better known as the fawn response. The four trauma responses are fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. Psych Central defines the fawn response as, “consistently abandoning your own needs to serve others to avoid conflict, criticism, or disapproval.” I highly encourage you to seek more information on the fawn response. You may learn more about yourself or someone you care about in the process.

If you struggle with fawning, it does not mean you are doomed to a life of suffering silently. There is hope. I hope that I can be proof of that. Please remember that it is a behavior, not an identity.

The roots from which fawning stems are long and complex, but with some help detangling and regularly exercising your right to say ‘no,’ you will eventually start telling yourself ‘yes’ instead.

While the fawn response does not define you, it’s integral to accept that it is a part of you. Besides, it’s not all bad. Fawning involves many learned skills that make me a deeply empathetic person as a result. Gifts my fawn response has given me include a knack for storytelling and the ability to make friends easily. Like any trait, it’s a two-sided coin.

So what if I am the neurotic hostess, scrambling around, making sure everyone’s happy? At least I throw a damn good party.